


The Amorous Intrigues and Adventures of Aaron Burr by Anon

by mysterytour



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29542122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterytour/pseuds/mysterytour
Summary: The Aaron Burr RPF published in 1861. Uploading to AO3 for archiving purposes.
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Adelaide King, Aaron Burr/Angelina Dudley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on AO3 for reference/convenience. I have attempted to preserve the original typography. Please bare with me while I type this up, it is quite a long document.

CHAPTER 1

BIRTH AND PARENTAGE OF AARON BURR.—HIS INFANCY.—EARLY DISPLAY OF SPITI AND IMPUDENCE.—LOSS OF HIS PARENTS.—RUNS AWAY AND GOES TO SEA.—HIS COLLEGE LIFE.—A VISIT TO CONNECTICUT.—HIS ACQUAINTANCE WITH ADELAIDE KING, AND THE FATAL CONSEQUENCES.

The renowned Aaron Burr was a standing argument against the old saying that “none but fools fall in love with women.” This talented, heroic, and energetic man was an adorer of the fair sex. From the age of puberty to the day of his death, (which occurred in his eightieth year,) Aaron Burr was keenly alive to the fascinations of the fairer portion of creation, and esteem their smiles as sunny rays darted from heaven.

It is reported of him, that he had “a flattering tongue,” but that is probably vulgar prejudice. Let others try the flattering system, and they may find that, in the majority of cases, they will only be laughed at for their pains.

It is more probable that Burr felt all he said—that he praised women because he adored them, and they knew he was in earnest. It is well enough for men who are feebly endowed, and whose love for women is at best lukewarm, to attribute to heartless flattery the success which they have vainly sough to obtain, and which is really due to a genuine love for the charms of woman.

We are not, however, apologizing for the faults of Alan Burr; we shall only aim to give him his due, and we shall also do justice to the charms of woman, when we remember that Burr was neither fool nor poet.

He was no dreamer, who invested in the fair sex with the bright creations of vivid fancy, but a man of sound, cool and accurate judgement, keen discrimination, and one who possessed great knowledge of human nature. As a lawyer he was pre-eminent, and as a statesman, he has no superior. He was a man of great benevolence, and impoverished himself by his liberality to those who stood in need of pecuniary aid; but among the women, it must be confessed, that he was often led away by the warmth of his temperament

The infancy and boyhood of Aaron Burr passed under the most favorable circumstances. They were such as to give him the exalted opinion of that sex which is so capable of imparting to us the keenest enjoyments, both of a physical and moral nature. He associated with none but respectable young ladies of family and of education. The grandfather of Burry was a German of noble lineage, and his father, the Rev. Aaron Burry, was educated at Yale College, and was subsequently appointment the President of the New Jersey College, known afterwards as Nassau Hall.

President Burry, father of our hero, was married, in his 38th year, to the daughter of Jonathan Edwards, the celebrated metaphysician and divine. President Burry was celebrated for his eloquence and his piety, and was also noted for his eccentricity.

The mother of our hero, Esther Burr, this speaks of him in a letter to her father, President Edwards:

“My little son [then twenty months old] has been such with the slow fever since my brother left us, and has been brought to the brink of the grave. But I hope, in mercy, God is bringing him up again.”

Aaron not only recovered, but possessed a good constitution, great muscular pawer, and an independent, self-relying mind. This he evinced by running away from his preceptor, when only four years of age.

Aaron Burry was born on the 6th of February, 1756, in Newark, State of New Jersey. His father died in August, 1757, and his mother during the following year, leaving two children, Aaron and his sister Sarah. Sarah married Judge Tappan Reeve. Colonel Burr inherited a handsome estate on the death of his father.

Although deprived of his pious and highly respectable parents, Burr fell into good hands.

Aaron and his sister were transferred to the family of Timothy Edwards, their mother’s eldest brother, who lived in Stockbridge, Massachusetts.

In 1762 Mr. Edwards removed to Elizabethtown, New Jersey. A private tutor was engaged for Aaron and his sister, Judge Reeve occupying that station for a considerable time. When ten years old, Aaron ran away from his guardian, and went to new York for the purpose of going a sea voyage. He engaged himself on board a vessel as cabin-boy. He was pursued by Mr. Edwards, who found him on board; but the young hero was determined not to be taken until he had made terms of peace with his guardian, and ran up the rigging to the top-gallant-mast head, where he remained till he had received a promise that he should not be molested, if he returned home. In the year 1769, Burr entered Princetorn College, were he soon distanced all competitors, and gave ample proofs of an o’ermastering intellect. He was sixteen years of age when he graduated, and received the highest academic honors that the faculty could bestow.

No doubt the pure life led by Burr, under the tutelage of the good and virtuous, contributed much to preserve his intellectual faculties in all their force, and as he was never led into any improper habits, he retained his vigor till he was old enough to go into society, and form attachments for such of the far sex as pleased his taste.

From the best authority to which we have recourse, we believe that Burr never gratified the sexual passion till he was seventeen years of age.

There was, in the neighborhood of Bethlehem, Connecticut, a girl of eighteen years, named Adelaide King. Burr, who appears to have had some concern on the subject of religion about the time he left college, and some months afterwards, called upon Rev. Dr. Bellamy, who lives at Bethlehem. This was in the autumn of 1773, and there he first saw Adelaide King.

Adelaide had not had the advantage of a strict or a genteel education. Her father was a man of taste, but he paid little attention to his family, and the mother and child may be said to have run wild, and to have paid little attention to appearances. Perhaps it was for that very reason that Adelaide drew the attention of Aaron Burr. Her total want of affection, united to extreme beauty, both of form and feature, and the most soft and feminine manners, combined with the brusque style of the “Mose” school, interested him exceedingly.

There was some thing so original in a beautiful, tender-hearted girl, expressing brilliant sentiments in the unadorned and unaffected manner of the lower orders, with the occasional use of a slang phrase in music tones, and coming from the sweetest lips that were ever formed, that Burr listened to the conversation as if it had been the tone of an angel’s lyre.

Careless of her dress, she was yet cleanly, and appeared to Burr more engaging in her village bonnet and checked apron, tripping on the green, than the ladies of refinement whom he had known, attired in “silks and satins new.”

With a small waist, Adelaide had rounded, voluptuous hips, full calves, and a small foot. Her limbs were, indeed, models for the statuary. Her eyes were blue, and peculiarly expressive. A kind and gentle heart manifested itself in all that she said and did; though there was no mawkish sensibility, no pretension to feeling, nor, indeed, pretension of any kind. While with one ear Burr listened to the ghostly teachings of his reverend friends, the other was open to the harmonious tones of the entrancing Adelaide. It would appear that the latter carried the day. The priestly divine was no match for the divine Adelaide, who so fired the imagination of young Burry, that he could think of little else during the latter part of his sojourn in Bethlehem.

Burr has become acquainted with Adelaide King, at the parties of the young, which were then herd with little regard to precedence. Nearly all classes mingled in the dance, the ring-play, and the corn-husking. It is true that Burr was not expected to form acquaintance among the common people; but having seen Adelaide at church, he made the necessary inquires, and found that she might be met with once or twice a week at parties.

It does not appear that Adelaide observed the young student till he met her at the house of a Mrs. Lewis, who had several daughters of her own. Though she must have met him sometimes in the road, he did not particularly attract her attention. Perhaps this may be accounted for by the fact that Burry’s appearance was that of one of the members of the upper class, and Adelaide was not troubled with wordly ambition. She seemed satisfied in her humble sphere. Besides this, Burry was small in stature and in frame, and women generally notice men of larger growth.

No sooner, however, had Burr addressed her at the house of Mrs. Lewis, and shown by word and looks that he admired her, than Adelaide became fully sensible of the honor done her. The Misses Lewis had given a party, and as young men dropped in on such occasions, without waiting for “an invite,” Burr made his appearance among the rest.

The girls, generally, knew Burr by sight, as a young man of wealth and talent cannot make his debut in a country village without occasioning a flutter among the gentle sex.

When Burr entered the room, every eye was turned upon him. The plays partially ceased, and there were earnest whisperings among the pretty girls for some minutes.

Finally, however, the ring-play went forward again with spirit. A ring is formed by the company, who pass around two or three lads or lasses in the centre, singing some popular song. At the conclusion of the singing, those in the centre choose partners from the ring, when they kiss, and the latter then take their places in the centre, and choose in turn.

They began to circle around him, singing:

“Come Philanders, lets be a marching,

Every one speaks from his heart-string,

Choose your true-love, now or never,

and see that you do not choose any other!”

The eyes of the girls glistened as they were turned towards young Burr, each one hoping to be selected by the “gentleman,” but they were not left long in suspense.

Reaching forth his hand, Burr seized that of Adelaide King, and drawing the beautiful girl to him, he pressed her plump bosom forcibly to his own, and inflicted a dozen kisses on her dainty red lips.

As soon as Burr left her to take his plan in the ring, Adelaide blushed deeply, cast down her eyes, and sighed. It was evident that the honor of being chosen by Burry was wholly unexpected by the young beauty, while the ardor with which he embraced her, testified to the peculiar admiration with which she had inspired him.

This choice was unexpected by Adelaide, because she did not know how beautiful she was, and because there were other girls present, whose fathers owned large farms, and who felt themselves above her. She had supposed that young Burry would, at least, prefer the wealthiest people in the village, where all were below him in social position. But the fact was, that Burr could perceive little difference between the villagers, save in beauty and intelligence. Those who possessed the largest farms, were sometimes the most deficient in those qualifications.

The plays continues till three o’clock in the morning, and often did Burr lead Adelaide into the centre of the ring, and inhale the sweetness of her virgin charms, though he sometimes choose others for the sake of appearances.

Between the plays, Aaron continued to place himself by the side of Adelaide, and found a singular charm in her conversation, and the untaught grace of her manners.

“How exceedingly white and pretty your hands are!” said he. “Can is be possible that you do any kind of work?”

“I spin, sir, and I card wool,” returned she, looking down at the hand which he had extolled, and turning them over for examination them over for examination, as if she had never before observed any thing peculiar about them; “and I wash, and husk corn, and do many other kinds of work, sir. But,” added she, smiling, and exhibiting as she did so the loveliest pearls, “come say that women’s work isn’t nothing; but it’s so constant!”

“Constant! Yes, that’s natural,” returned he, “for constancy is a great virtue in a woman.”

“Oh, yes, constancy is very good, but that is very different from constant work.”

“But constancy leads to constant work, sometimes, I should think.” said Burr, laughing.

“Yes, sure, when they get married. Though we all work in the country.”

“Who do you think is the prettiest girl in the room?’ said Burr.

“Penelope Shattuch has that name—the girl in the pink frock yonder, talking to the tall young gentleman.”

“What, She! Why, her form is not that much.”

“I don’t know. Here they say tat beauty consists in black eyes, red cheeks, and a slim figure.”

Burr burst form into shouts of laughter, which quite astonished Adelaide.

“My own sweet seraph!” cried he, “there’s not a girl in the room who can compare with yourself, and you have neither black eyes, red cheeks, not a slim—ah! yes, you have a small waist, undoubtedly, but otherwise you a full; with the most enchanting bust that nature ever fashioned.”

“You think so, sir? I don’t think that I am handsome.”

“Then you pronounce me no judge of beauty! I hope that you err on that head, at least.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t be willing to tell any gentleman that he is no judge of beauty—”

“Ay, ay, I understand. You only think that I am fond of deceiving and flattering the ladies—of speaking what I do not think.”

“Oh, no, by no means. Not that, but—”

"But what? Why do you panse?”

“Well, I don’t know—only, I never was called handsome.”

“Then it is high time that you were. Many homely girls have been told that they were handsome, and it is a hard case if one so beautiful as you must never hear the truth.”

By this kind of conversation with Adelaide, Burr made more progress than he was aware of, for Adelaide was not one of those girls who are easily led to express their feelings; nor was she ready to believe that Burr was in love with her.

It was enough that she soon knew she was in love with him, whether he was sincere in his profession of admiration for her or not.

This, then, was the first love adventure in which Aaron Burr was engaged. He was seventeen years old at the time.

Long years have passed since then, and long years had passed at the time of Burr’s death on Staten Island, since Adelaide King had been consigned to the old grave yard of Bethlehem. Yet Burr never could hear the mention of her name without emotion. There was something so real, so devoted in the love of Adelaide for Burr, that he never could think of her without a pang, even after so many others had been added to the list of his conquests.

It was down in a green lane, some half a mile from the village church of Bethlehem, in a velley[sic] of palms and daisies, that Adelaide Kind yielded up her virgin purity to the importunities of her lover. The very spot has been pointed out to us more than one.

There, with the beautiful and tender Adelaide in his arms, Burred quaffed the sweetest joys ever vouchsafed to man, while the glorious form of Adelaide was thrilled with the raptures that she had never before imagined.

Again and again did they rush into each other’s arms, till nature was exhausted, where they parted with one long-continued kiss.

“Dear Adelaide, for ever dear, we shall meet again.”

“Yes, Aaron, beloved of my soul, we shall yet be happy. You will return soon?”

This did the lovers separate, she to return to the roof of her parents, and he to repair to New Jersey, where he took up his residence with his brother-in-law, Tappan Reeve.

There was evidently a correspondence kept up, for a short time, between Aaron Burr and Adelaide King, after the return of the former to New Jersey.

It gradually languished on the part of Burr, and Adelaide, doubtless warmed by the tenor of his letters, soon gave up all hopes of seeing him again. The following appears to have been her last letter:

“DEAR AARON: You say truly that the opinion of the world must be consulted in many of our most important actions. Had I consulted that, instead of my devotion to you, I should not now be in a way to become a mother, but not a wife. Should the poor little creature live, who is now bounding in my bosom, as if it knew I was writing to its father, may Heaven shield it from the disgrace which will be heaped upon its mother as soon as it is born. But you love me no more, and I need not write again. Farewell, Aaron! I shall trouble nobody long. A.K.”

Her words were prophetic. The child was born, and Adelaide was turned out of the house by her parents. She did not let Burr know this fact, but took refuge with her child in the alms-house among the “town poor.” There she was kindly treated by Mrs. Armstrong, who had charge of the poor at that time, but grief and anxiety for the fate of her child brought on a fever, which carried her off in a few days. Her child survived her only a week.

Burr knew nothing of these things, but was waiting to hear from Adelaide, that he might send her money. At the same time, he had never dreamed that her parents would turn her away from her home. The parents knew not who was the father of the child, as Adelaide had never mentioned the name of Burr.

When, at length, Burr learned the fate of Adelaide King, he was thunderstruck. Though he kept his own secret, except that he imparted it to his friend Ogden, and one or two other intimates, yet there was observed in him a change about the time of this tradgey[sic]. His ardor in the pursuit of the fair sex did not at all diminish; his happy experience with Adelaide, led him to desire the society of the opposite sex, though he had never thought of returning to the gentle maid of Bethlehem, because he was in no haste to marry. Still she dwelt in his thoughts, and he cough never think of her without a sight of regret; and when he heard of her death, it affected him deeply, and wove into all his after life a dark thread, which gave a sombre tint to the whole tissue.

This was, however, a great secret hidden from his wife; and when, long afterwards, Burr had become a noted warrior and politician, on the isle of la Belle Riviere, where Mrs. Blennerhassett surprised him in a deep reverie, and asked him what sad memories engaged his attention, he immediately replied:

“The Babe of Bethlehem!”

This this the lady replied that she was glad to find his mind so devoutly employed.

He smiled mysteriously, and said, with a deep sigh:

“But it is I who suffer the crucifixion.”

Mrs. Blennerhassett often related this anecdote as an evidence that Burr was capable of religious impressions. Alas! had she seen the following scrap, found in an old volume of Plutarch’s Live, she would never have given currency to so great an improbability:

“There came in the twilight gloaming

A mournful cadence o’er the lea:

‘Poor branded Cain, where art thou roaming?’

A plaintiff voice saith unto me.

“Is it thy voice comes through the glade,

And is’t thy voice so softly sighing,

The mournful tones of Adelaide,

And her poor, houseless infant dying

“Those distant recollections fade,

And can I still be aught to them?

The young and the beautiful betrayed,

And her poor babe of Bethlehem!

“Oh! wander on, thou lonely man,

Through the thickets—

Here the manuscript broke suddenly off, and the paper was also blotted, as if the writer had relinquished the idea of finishing the piece, and thrown it aside. It suffers, however, to explain the meaning of Burr’s reply to Mrs. Blennerhassett.

It was not Bethlehem of Judea, but Bethlehem of Connecticut the residence of Rev. Dr. Bellamy, to which Col. Burr alluded.

We write thus to show that Burr, though a reckless seducer of female virtue, was deeply sensible of the worth and devotion of Adelaide King, the beautiful maid of Bethlehem.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things really heat up.

DESCRIPTION OF BURR.—A BEAUTIFUL GIRL.—LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.—UNTIMELY VISITOR.—REV. DR. BELLAMY IN NEW JERSEY.

AFTER his return to New Jersey, Burr at once became famous as a gallant. His height was just five feet six inches; of a handsome though slender figure, and possessed of great muscular power. He could also endure great hardships and fatigue. His carriage was very erect and dignified; his forehead who broad and high, and his hair dark, and worn behind in a queue. His nose was nearly Grecian, and his mouth had an expression of voluptuousness, deceit, and cunning. His chin was broad and well-moulded; and his eyes were large, black and penetrating—once seen, never to be forgotten. This magnetic power was great, as many of the gentle sex knew to their sorrow.

This daring, independent spirit recommended him to the ladies, who admired courage and independence, very generally, and it was not long after his return, that he had a convincing proof of this, which gratified his vanity exceedingly. Aaron was one day walking in an unfrequented spot, (for there were many wild and solitary places in those days,) when he saw approaching him a lady on horseback.

Without appearing impertinent, he took measures to ascertain whether is was a young or elderly rider. His stealthy glances soon convinced him that she was both young and lovely. She was not above the middle size, and of feminine proportions and features, yet there was a certain _hauteur_ in her bearing which only rendered her more interesting.

As the rider drew near, Burr perceived that she was dressed in rich and fanciful style. She wore a riding-habit of blue cassimere, with yellow buttons, and the cuffs and collar were composed of red velvet. Her scarlet velvet cap was trimmed with fur, and sat very gracefully and rather jauntly on her head, while from under it fell a profusion of jet-black curls, which Solomon would have compared to clusters of ripe grapes. Her stately neck was of the purest alabaster, and her lops, like threads of scarlet, only opened to disclose pearls of surpassing whiteness.

This bosom was plump, and of a good size; the shoulders faultless. The taper waist was admirably contrasted with well-rounded hips, and her manner was graceful—nay, fairly bewitching. She carrid[sic] her head with an air of pride and gentleness combined, which stamped her a member of the upper classes of society.

Our hero looked more than once at this charming rider, but when she drew very near, he was about to pass with a simple bow, when her lips parted, and in musical accents, she inquired:

“Pray, sir, do I not address Mr. Aaron Burr?”

Burr started with surprise, but soon recovered his self-possession, and replied:

“My name is Aaron Burr, Miss. Can I serve you in any way?”

“I beg your pardon, sure,” said she, checking her horse, and blushing deeply; “but you have forgotten me doubtless?”

“I must have seen you before,” said Burr, “though your name has slipped my recollections; not is it strange, for my memory is very defective in the matter of names and dates.”

“Angelina Dudley,” said she with a smeet smile.

“Ten thousand pardons, Miss Dudley!” cried he, with animation. “I recollect you perfectly well. It was at the house of —,” he paused, for he had, in truth, no recollection of ever seeing the young lady before, and her name was entirely new to him. But the young lady helped him out; for perceiving that he hesitated, she cried:

“At the house of Lord Stirling.”

“Oh! forgetful dolt that I am!” resumed Burr. “I remember if was there—I—I—I—danced with you—”

“No, sir!” interrupted Angelina, laughing merrily; “we did no dance on that occasion, and as I said little, you may have but a very indistinct recollection of me; but, sir, I observed _you_ , and was much pleased with your remarks on the subject of the aggressions of the King and Parliament.”

“I am glad to hear—”

“Oh! Sir, your patriotic sentiments found an echo in my heart!”

“You do me great honor, Miss, and this is certainly the happiest moment of my life.”

“I am glad that you are happy,” said she, in a mournful tone.

“May I not hope that Miss Dudley is also happy? Ah, were she, indeed, as happy as she is beautiful—”

“Oh, sir!”

“Nay, I do not flatter. You know that I speak the truth. I do not believe that a lady is to blame when she is beautiful for being conscious of the fact.”

The emotions now betrayed by this fair interlocutor, let Burr into her secret. She was silent, several moments, evidently endeavouring to commanding her her feelings.

“Will not Miss Dudley descent and let her horse crop the beautiful grass and clover? It will be to her an agreeable change to walk a little.”

“Thank yo, sir,” said Angelina, as Burr assisted her to alight, and took charge of the horse. He took the bit from the mouth of the animal, who was soon engaged in devouring the daisies and butter-cups, while Burr took the hand if Muss Dudley, and kissing it, said:

“To form an acquaintance with Miss Dudley, would be the most fortunate circumstance that has yet brightened my existence.”

“To try to dissemble any longer, would be sheer folly,” cried Angelina. “You see the state of my heart; but pardon—oh! pardon the unwomanly step which I have taken, and despise me not; but ever since I met with you a the house of Lord Stirling; I have been most unhappy.”

“And yet you have taken the trouble to see me again! If seeing me once made you unhappy—”

Angelina laughed through her tears at this sally, and then placing her hand in that of Burr’s, rested her cheek upon his shoulder, and giving vent to her long-suspended feelings, sobbed aloud.

This was an interesting situation for a young man like Aaron Burr to be placed in. It was very much as if a young sheep had reclined upon the bosom of a lion, to enjoy the tender sympathy of the king of the forest.

Curry put his arm around the waist of Angelina, and pressing her to his throbbing heart, applied his lips to those ivory globes which rounded up over her dress, almost to the nipples.

The effect of this was instantly apparent. The warm-hearted girl sighed heavily, there was a choking sensation in her throat, and her large dark eyes were rolled up in her head with such a softness in their expression, that Burr must have been more or less than man, not to have desired a more intimate acquaintance with her.

“My dear love!” cried he, kissing her furiously, and throwing her back upon the grass, “you are as lovely as a seraph!”

The threw up her clothes, and revealed such charms as seldom have been exposed to the light of the sun. The smooth, round belly, the voluminous yet compact thighs, the robust calf, and small foot and ankle, the satin smoothness of the skin, and other graces not to be mentioned, but whose pouting and moist freshness betokened a guarded virginity, which, however, longed for the pressure of manhood, all these so fired him with passion, that he had scarcely the necessary patience to prepare himself for the amorous encounter.

Just as he was about entering the gate of Paradise, the snorting of a steed was heard. Both of them started. Burr looked towards Angelina’s horse, and saw that he was silently feeding by the way-side. He could not have made the noise. Burr sprang to his feet, and looking beyond a projection of the road, beheld his worthy friend, the Rev. Dr. Bellamy, riding towards the spot, with saddle-bags, umbrella, and the other accutrements [sic] for a journey.

The reverend gentleman was close upon the enamored pair, and there was not a moment to lose; Burr raised the young lady to her feet, smoothed down her dress, and taking a book from his pocket, began walking along by the side of the girl, as if discanting upon the contents of the volume, in conjunction with the beauties of nature.

Angelina understood the manoeuvre, and acted her part as well as she could, but her countenance was very pale when Dr. Bellamy came up. The latter recognised the youth immediately, and reined in his steed.

“You here, doctor!” exclaimed Burry. “I am right glad to see you!”

He then seized the doctor’s extended hand, and pressed it cordially. The doctor expressed himself highly pleased at the encounter.

“All in good time,” said he. “I was on my way to the house of young uncle, my friend Edwards, and you can point me out the exact spot, for I must confess that this region is entirely new to me.”

At the same time, the reverend doctor glanced at Angelina, who had sunk down upon a rock, and at her horse, who was enjoying the largest liberty among the long grass and wild flowers.

“This is Mss Brown,” said Burr, quickly; “she has experienced a fright: her horse ran away with her—”

“Indeed!” cried the doctor, innocently. “He seems quiet enough, now. Are you not afraid to trust him alone?”

“Oh, no sir, he sometimes gets frightened, and runs, after which he is quite docile. I fear that the effects of Miss Brown’s alarm will be serious; if you will permit me to get some water—”

The doctor eyed the young man closely.

“You were reading a volume to her—”

“Oh, yes, sir!” cried Burr, who perceived that he was caught. “I was telling her to be composed, and read some thing to her which was calculated to confirm her trust in the protecting care of Divine Providence.”

“I am glad to find that the hours you spent in my library have not been without their good fruits,” said Bellamy. “You have then become a sincere believer, at least, in an over-ruling Providence!”

“I think it good policy to refer those to the ‘good book’ who have been educated in its precepts, like Miss Brown,” said Burr, “as I would refer a Mahometan to the Koran—”

“But, pray, get the water you spoke of for the young lady, who may be suffering while we discuss theological questions,” said the doctor.

“The devil! What sent the old curse here just at the critical moment?” said Burr to himself, as he led Angelina to a nearby brook, and dashed the pure water over her temples.

Burr took this opportunity to whisper to Angelina that he would get clear of “the old hunks: as soon as possible’ but she was much too agitated to make any reply, except by deep and frequent blushes.

The disappointment had evidently been quite as severe to Angelina as to Aaron, perhaps even more overwhelming, and she continued faint and haggard.

As Dr. Bellamy now rode up to the spot where the lovers stood, Burr began to describe to him the house of Mr. Timothy Edwards, and the roads which he must pursue; but it was not easy to made the reverend gentleman comprehend the way, and he found that he could not get clear of acting as a guide to the worthy clergyman, without an open show of disrespect, and in those days, a regular minister of the gospel was “some pumpkins.”

Burr, therefore, asked Angelina if she felt able to ride.

“By no means,” cried the doctor. “The young lady must not be trusted on the horse again. We will accompany her home first. After that, you can go with me. How far does Mr. Brown live from here?”

This was putting a new face upon the matter. Angelina had not desire to be seen by her family in company with Burry, and the story of a frightened horse would sound very strangely in the ears of her father, who knew that Angelina was a fearless rider, and that the pony was gentleness itself.

“There is no necessity,” said the disappointed girl, quickly; “if Mr. Burr will have the goodness to assist me in re-mounting the horse, I will manage to get home myself.”

Burr sighed, but he saw no other way. He did as requested, and Angelina set out on a slot trot for her father’s house. Butt then obtained a horse in the neighborhood, and guided the Doctor to the mansion of his worthy relative.


End file.
